Spend all your money on books and end every run with Wilson Phillips’ “Hold On” and you’ll be alright.
clearly the life i should be living.
NYC was very, very good to me. Onward to April.
I love you
because you made me
want to love you
more than I love my privacy
my freedom my commitments
I love you because I changed my life
to love you
because you saw me one friday
afternoon and decided that I would
I love you I love you I love you.”
“I didn’t stop, though, knocking down one workout at a time, crossing them out on the photocopy with a felt-tip pen as I went. I craved soreness in my muscles, and pain. It was both my penance for failing again in a relationship and a reminder that, yes, I was still alive and could feel something other than grief.”
“Stories are compasses and architecture; we navigate by them, we build our sanctuaries and our prisons out of them, and to be without a story is to be lost in the vastness of a world that spreads in all directions like arctic tundra or sea ice. To love someone is to put yourself in their place, we say, which is to put yourself in their story, or to figure out how to tell their story. Which means that a place is a story, and stories are geography, and empathy is first of all an act of imagination, a storyteller’s art, and then a way of traveling from here to there.”
—Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby (via doskapozora)